A Head Injury
by katierosefun
Summary: [Set shortly after 8x04.] Clara takes a look at the Doctor's head injury. [Not really a Whouffaldi, though it can be read as one if you're wearing your Whouffaldi goggles.]


**_First Twelve and Clara story ever! _****Gosh, gosh, gosh, I couldn't bring myself to write anything with Clara and Twelve because I was still trying to get used to his new outlook (though I ****_am_**** in love with him,) and mostly trying to get into the swing of writing in his character. I guess I'm still very, very used to writing Eleven's cheery, perky, sensitive attitude...so this was bit of a challenge. :) **

**This isn't a Whouffaldi, though if you're a die-hard shipper of it (like I am, hee hee), you can put on your Whouffaldi goggles and still be satisfied with it. (At least, I hope so.) **

**Enjoy! **

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><p><em>A Head Injury <em>

"It's _fine, _Clara!" The Doctor protested, trying to duck away from his companion's hand. Clara Oswald glared up at him, arms crossed and an ever-so-defiant scowl on her face. "Really? Because to me, it still looks like you're bleeding," she said firmly, standing at the tips of her toes to take a better look at the wound. The Doctor threw his hands up in the air in exasperation. "I don't need a nanny, Clara!" He protested indignantly as Clara pushed him down into a seat. When the brunette didn't answer, the Doctor resorted to the next best defensive move – huffily complaining and groaning.

"Don't you have to catch up with…the date guy?" The Doctor asked sullenly. Clara peered down at the Doctor, an eyebrow raised to her bangs. "The date guy can wait just for a few more minutes," she replied. There was something strangely peculiar about the way she now looked at the Doctor – her face was softening, her voice was growing quieter.

Now that the Doctor properly thought of it, Clara had been this way since she came back through the TARDIS doors. He had the strangest suspicion that it had something to do with the place that Clara had been – wherever that was. Either way, it was unsettling – especially the way she looked at him afterwards. (But of course, the Doctor couldn't admit that.)

Clara brushed back a few grey hairs from the Doctor's head and brought her face close – she narrowed her eyes at the wound and let out a small sigh. "You should probably wash it," she said, poking her tongue out from between her teeth. "It doesn't really look bad, but it doesn't hurt to get to it."

"Yes, _Nurse, _thank you for your input," the Doctor simply commented. Shaking her head, Clara pushed herself back. "I _would _smack you for being so snide with me," she replied, "though I don't think I want to damage your head any more than it already is."

"Again, it's not that bad!" The Doctor said, standing up. Still, the dull, stinging sensation of the cut was beginning to crawl into his head now…pity – he had done a good job at ignoring it, too. "Doctor, let's face it – you could have a _broken leg _and say that you'd still be able to run," Clara tsked. She pointed out the console room, very much like the nanny she used to be. "You know where to wash the blood off – do it _now._"

"Bossy control-freak," the Doctor muttered under his breath, though he obeyed and walked out of the room.

"That's enough of smart-mouthing!" Clara called after him.

"Yes, ma'am," the Doctor shouted back (sarcastically) over his shoulder. He saw Clara rolling her eyes and then in the next second, she had her hands clapped over her mouth, screaming, "Watch out!"

The Doctor, sadly, didn't know what to watch out _for _until too late. He promptly smashed against the metallic wall and fell back against the floor, cringing at the throbbing in his skull. _Fine, fine, _fine, he thought indignantly to himself, biting back the urge to moan. _I'll take a look at you, you needy, needy head. _

"Doctor? Doctor, are you alright? Oh, _God _– I don't think it was a good idea to crash into something with your head – Doctor, _are you going to answer me?" _ Clara's panicky, worried voice filled the Doctor's ears. He opened his eyes and looked up to see the brunette's wide eyes staring down at him. It took a few moments of recomposing before he managed to say, "I'm _fine _– stop fretting, will you?"

Clara drew out what appeared to be a small breath of relief. She extended a hand, saying, "I should probably go to the bathroom with you – just in case you…trip or fall again."

Taking Clara's hand, the Doctor scoffed, "Me? Fall? _Ha!_" Once he was standing up, he let go of Clara's hand and took two steps before promptly falling back to his feet again. The Doctor blinked a few times, trying to get rid of the crowd of yellow spots clouding his vision. He then scowled down at his legs, muttering expletives under his breath. _Work, you damn legs, work!_

The Doctor felt a hand settle over his shoulder. "Maybe I should go with you?" Clara asked gently. Sighing indignantly, the Doctor bobbed his head into a tiny, surrendering nod. Clara pulled the Doctor up by the shoulders and tugged him down the halls.

"Still not changing, then?" The Doctor asked as the two found the bathroom. "Still wanting to be the one to drag me around? _I'm _the one who's supposed to be doing that, you know."

Clara flicked on the lights and started to run the sink. "Yes, Doctor, I know," she replied. "But to be quite honest, I think it's nice to switch roles once in a while." She cupped some water into her hands and looked over her shoulder, saying with a hint of her old self, "_Sit. _There is _no way _I'm going to be able to reach you with your towering height."

The Doctor obliged reluctantly – he seated himself in one of the wooden chairs in the bathroom and Clara gently poured the water over the wound, catching any remaining drops on a small towel. He sucked in a quick breath as the stinging sensation took over again, earning himself a worried look from Clara. The Doctor covered the sound with a grunt and a scowl. "What're you looking at me for?" He asked.

Another odd look crossed over Clara's face. It wasn't sympathy or annoyance – more so…sadness. Quiet, underrated sadness which was tucked away in her eyes…

"Nothing," she said, her voice only a few notches above a whisper. With that, she returned to her task. It wasn't until she began searching through the cabinets for a bandage (no doubt,) did the Doctor actually speak again. "Is there something you want to tell me?" He asked. "You're too quiet."

"Oh?" Clara asked, not looking over to face the Doctor. "Just a few minutes ago, you were complaining about how I was a control-freak. That sounds pretty normal to me."

"Well, _yes, _but you're not _you _somehow! You're not…there's something _off _about your bossiness today! And it's _nerve-wracking!_" The Doctor pronounced emphatically. Clara turned around, holding up the small medicine box. "Your concern for me is sweet," she said dryly, flipping it open. She started to rifle through the numerous bandages until finally, she pulled out a sterile of gauze – well, _bandage, _but it looked white enough to be gauze.

After a few more moments of considering where to put the bandage, Clara walked over to the Doctor. She started to put it over the small cut until the Doctor asked, "Why're you doing this?"

The Doctor could see (and feel) Clara freeze. She slowly looked down at the Doctor, eyes widening. "Excuse me?" She asked. The Doctor shrugged his shoulders. "Why're you doing this? You said that the _date guy _could wait, but that's a bit surprising, isn't it?" He shifted his position to the side, causing Clara to tsk in annoyance. He promptly stopped. "The only thing you would _talk about _beforehand was about how you _wanted _to get back to your date and how you were expecting a phone call and et cetera, et cetera, et cetera…"

Clara waited until she had firmly placed the bandage over the cut before replying, "Maybe it's because I would very much rather take care of a friend – even if he was a grumpy, arrogant _friend._" With those words, Clara gave the Doctor a pointed look. She paused. "But still a friend," she added quietly.

_"Grumpy? Arrogant? Don't know what you're talking about,"_ the Doctor wanted to say, though he didn't. He simply stared back at Clara, deciding between a _thank you _and an _oh _for an answer. Both didn't exactly sound…appealing to the Doctor at the moment.

Instead, the Doctor quickly bounced to his feet, patting the bandage against his head. "Is it on tight? Yes? No? No matter – it'll be fine – do you want to go somewhere else? Or would you rather go back to your normal, boring life? I think going somewhere else would be a better idea – are we alright with that? Yes, we're alright with that! Come on, let's go!" He said hurriedly and ran out of the room.

The Doctor was almost _positive _he heard Clara laughing from inside the bathroom.

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><p><strong>AN - So...how did I do for my first time of trying to write as Twelve? Should I try to write more of Twelve and Clara? I don't know! XD **

**Reviews would be AH-MAZ-ING! No, hold on - I need to switch to my Whovian mode. Reviews would be FANTASTIC! Constructive criticism is allowed, but flames are not! **


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